


maybe

by ninespercentage (nicrt)



Category: Nine Percent, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV), 百分九少年 | Nine Percent
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/pseuds/ninespercentage
Summary: A boy growing into a man glances through the small window of the door. A man with a boy's face glances up at the mirror in front of him. Their eyes meet like they do every time.





	1. Chapter 1

They've never met. Never spoken to one another, or spoke of each other. But they knew of the other's existence.

A boy growing into a man glances through the small window of the door. A man with a boy's face glances up at the mirror in front of him. Their eyes meet like they do every time.

And then, the world starts dancing, in a way familiar to them alone. The music is sweet and soft, full of desire and longing. The dance is slow and fierce at the same time, for hearts drugged deep with wants and needs.

It ends as soon as it begins. They look away, the music stops and the dance put on hold once more.

The boy makes his way towards the other spare dance studio. The man turns around and begins his lessons for the day.

For Xukun, he was like a faraway prince; a fantasy in his castle of dreams.

For Zhengting, he was like a dark knight; a hope in his palace for nightmares.

There's music in the air that only they can hear, a song in between them that only they can sing. There's a beat humming through their hearts, a rhythm shaking in their bones, and a tune running along their skins. There's a maybe engraved into their dance; a dance that they've been thinking of, a dance they've been feeling to, a dance they've been yearning for.

All the dancers need, is to take their first step now.


	2. moment

**_://moment_ **

He felt time press down on him, as the long hand ticked past 8, then 9, then 10. He turned his gaze away from the clock, anticipation building inside of him, as the door opened and closed with each familiar face walking through. Familiar light blonde hair caught his attention, but it was just a new boy walking into the room. The air seemed to thicken around him, making it hard to breathe. There’s sweat running down his back, uncomfortably settling on the skin above his hips.

Zhengting inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down as he stretched. His heart rate was still fast, rapid and anxious in his chest. He stretched his arms upwards, bending at the side, counted to eight and then came back up. Repeat, this time on the other side. Inhale, then exhale. A piercing gaze flashed in his mind, a pair of dark brown eyes looking directly at him. Inhale. His heart slowed, but it still beat loudly, like drums in his ears. Exhale; long and loud, like the weight of the world was being lifted.

Stretching took away most of his anxiety, nerves that he gets before teaching a new class of students. When he’s done, Zhengting was seated on the floor with his legs stretched out. He glanced at the clock; the long hand was on 12 already. He thought about pink lips against white skin, full and plump underneath a sharp nose. He looked into the mirror; his students were all stretching as well, some of them new to dance while others were still learning. 

Taking one more deep and calming breath, he stood up and turned to address the class.

His hair was ash grey now, Zhengting realised, curled and tousled nicely around his face. But his gaze was still powerful, still strong. His dark eyes were coloured grey as well; contacts, of course. The same pink lips, slightly agape as he continued to stare, against the same pale skin and beneath the same sharp nose. Ah, that’s right; he had this cute and small face shape, almost like a heart. His eyes roamed, as they always did, from Zhengting’s legs to his arms and chest, and then settling on his face. They dart slowly about, and Zhengting wondered what he was thinking of when he did this.

Their eyes met. Zhengting felt his breath being caught in his throat, felt his heart begin its quick pacing anew. It was like being trapped by into a corner by a predator, prowling about, surrounding him in an aura so ominous and dangerous. But he didn’t dare look away, not when this moment was so rare but so natural. He’s trapped in a bubble where time had no meaning, to put it poetically. Part of him wished selfishly, that this moment would last a little longer, went by a little slower.

And then time moved forward, like the sudden end to a powerful orchestra. Zhengting turned away instinctively, smiling at his class. What felt like hours, days and years, was never more than a minute of his day. He greeted his class cheerfully, and as they all bowed at him in respect, he took one more look through the window on the door.

And like a fleeting shadow, the boy was gone.

* * *

His ears were filled with nothing but fast beats and quicker rhythms; of lyrics that rhymed and with meanings more powerful than he could ever experience. One step, two step, and a third; he made his way into the building, bopping his head along to the rap. Flashed a smile at the receptionist, he wrote his name in the logbook, a little old-fashioned but quick. As the pen inked out the last character of his name, he suddenly wondered if he still had his hair dyed in auburn or not.

When he’s done, Xukun returned to his small world of music. The track has changed to one without lyrics, just a blank canvas made of notes that he had made a few nights ago. He mumbled random verses to himself, words that held no real meaning, just quiet empty air spilling from his lips. Like how pretty those brown eyes were, like bright stars in the night sky, that could make his heart flutter. 

He’s at the top of the stairs now, on the third floor where most of the spare dance rooms were at. Through his own earpieces, he could hear a myriad of songs and sounds being played, muffled by glass, wood, and concrete. He takes one bud out, listened to all the different music that was simmering behind their doors. A classical piano from door number one, a boombox with a retro song from door number two, a fancy footwork piece from door number three. The silent words that were formed by lips too thin, but hid the most amazing smile he had ever seen, came from door number four.

Xukun stopped right outside the door, inhaled deeply, then turned to face the window.

He had dyed his hair back down to a chestnut brown. Xukun thought the colour complemented better with his soft facial features. His eyes were as round and as bright as Xukun remembered. They looked around in the mirror, and Xukun wondered what he was thinking about when he watched the reflections. He always looked good in those pair of glasses he wore; cute even, if he’s willing to admit. His lips trembled, puckered as he blew out a long and deep breath. His skin seemed tanner now, Xukun noticed. He had a lithe and nimble form, hugged protectively by the long-sleeves he always wore. But his legs...Xukun greedily took in the image of how good they looked in black. His gaze travelled upwards, trying to memorise all he could before he reached his face. Before his gaze locked with this strangers’. 

And when they did, he almost forgot how to breathe. It was like looking into sunlight filtered through the woods, the trees making shadows that were illuminated at the edges, so peaceful and beautiful at the same time. He wanted to look away before he could fall any deeper into his eyes. But they were right there, and he was right there. And Xukun just wanted to see him smile, just once. To permanently blind him with that wide grin of his, and let it sear into his memory forever. And forever wouldn’t be enough, he thought.

But just like that, the moment was gone. Xukun turned away just as he sees the smile flash at the corner of his eyes. He willed himself to move forward, to move on. One step at a time, until he opened the door to a roomful of other people. They greeted him warmly, and he coolly returned them with his own, lips pulled up into an almost-smirk. He dropped his bag down, music still drowning him in beats and rhythm. He’s ready to put his body to work, to surrender himself to sweat and movement.

But like a haunting ghost, the man still smiled at him.


End file.
